


Scent of a Woman

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Drama, F/M, Heterosexual Sex, Mystery, Romance, The Quidditch Pitch: Erotic Couplings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-03-12
Updated: 2007-03-12
Packaged: 2018-10-26 13:12:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10787391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: There were people who were officially in charge of finding Ginny Weasley… Why he felt compelled to go looking for her himself was something he really couldn’t fathom.  All he had was the lingering scent of her perfume and…her fear. RL/GW





	Scent of a Woman

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes:

I had written this before the release of HBP. I was pleasantly surprised to see that it predicted several themes that were present in new canon.

Some minor editing made it canon compliant for this site. 

* * *

  


**Scent of a Woman**

 

It lingered in the air.

 

Fear.

 

He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, allowing the sharp and bitter smell of dread to fill his lungs. It was an aroma he had sensed every day for the last four years and one he would not soon forget: the scent of slick perspiration on cold skin, the burnt copper of hot blood racing through veins. To most werewolves the rancid scent of fear was a siren call to centuries-old instincts, commanding them to feed. To Remus Lupin it was a reminder that something would forever separate him from normal men.

 

“You are far too sober, Professor.”

 

Remus looked into a pair of bleary brown eyes. “I think you’ve had enough for both of us,” he replied with a warm smile.

 

“Was I drinking for two?” George Weasley slurred. “No one told me? I’ve been neglecting my duties, I have. No worries, Professor, give me another twenty minutes and we’ll both be properly pickled.” He left with a salute and turned on his heels, wobbling only slightly as he walked away.

 

The Great Hall pulsed with laughter and song.

 

“The war is over.”

 

“The devil is dead.”

 

A drink to peace. A kiss for the future. A dance. A smile. The enchanted ceiling was dazzling with a bright and colorful fireworks display. 

 

It was a celebration.

 

But somewhere in the revelry, somewhere between the laughter and joy, someone was afraid. So afraid that the scent of his fear overpowered the exhilaration and ecstasy of a thousand strong.

 

Remus looked around the room at the sea of smiling faces. Hagrid was twirling Minerva McGonagall in the middle of a circle of people, all clapping and cheering. Arthur Weasley was raising a glass and sharing a laugh with Kingsley Shacklebolt. Nymphadora Tonks was changing her appearance on command to the delight of a throng of small children up well past their bedtime. Rolanda Hooch conducted her table in a raucous drinking song. Filius Flitwick was making chairs twirl around the room. Molly Weasley was dancing with her eldest son.

 

Remus inhaled again.

 

His eyes drifted to a quiet spot in the back of the hall. In a corner, at a private table, sat the guests of honor: Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Luna Lovegood, Neville Longbottom, and Ginny Weasley. They hadn’t asked to be left alone, but no one would intrude on their private gathering. This night meant more than the end of a four-year war to them. Every celebrant in the crowded hall looked over at that table at some point during the proceedings but the table’s occupants were oblivious to the world outside their circle, and seemed content to talk quietly amongst themselves.

 

Hermione placed her head on Ron’s shoulder. He smiled softly as he smoothed a bit of her hair out of his face. Neville was telling a story and Luna was laughing heartily. Harry shook his smiling head as he watched Luna, but didn’t speak as he continued to drink his Graphorn gin. Ginny ran a fingertip along the rim of her glass as she listened intently.

 

There was no denying that the scent of fear invading his senses was coming from that table. Someone seated there was not enjoying the night’s festivities. His gaze lingered a bit at Harry and the way he nursed his drink, cradling it like a child and taking long swigs with his eyes at a steady half mast, as if the liquor was having no effect, as if it didn’t burn going down.

 

He worried about Harry, worried that The Boy Who Lived Again might drink away the life he had fought so valiantly to save. No one was about to stop him, of course. Most felt he deserved some time alone and he earned the right to do what he pleased. Others felt that perhaps the drink was the only way for him to deal with the aftermath of war; he wouldn’t be the first to do so. Some were just afraid of him. He was a powerful wizard who had defeated a Dark Lord; few were willing to get in his way. Remus understood Harry well enough to know that he needed time to figure things out for himself. Harry usually found his way on his own terms. Hopefully, he would find his way now, as well.

 

Remus watched as Harry spoke to his friends, causing Ron to laugh loudly and Neville to sputter and blush. Hermione called out to Luna who replied with some remark that caused the whole table to burst out laughing. There was something very sweet about the sight of the six friends finding some sort of solace in each other’s company-- something that reminded Remus so much of his own youth.

 

It was while he was waxing nostalgic that he noticed Ginny Weasley get up from the table and excuse herself. Her friends gave each other furtive looks as she left and several heads turned to watch her walk across the hall and out of the room. They were worried about her, and Remus felt they were right in being concerned, for when Ginny Weasley left the room, she took the scent of fear with her.

 

He snaked his way through the crowd, making several promises as he passed for a drink or a dance later in the evening. By the time he got to the main doors, the ones Ginny had walked through mere moments before, she was nowhere to be seen. He inhaled deeply again and instantly his lungs filled once more with the scent of her fear, as sharp and ripe as it had been all evening. He was running to her as he followed the scent out of the castle and across the grounds. Within minutes he found himself on the shore of the lake. Alone. Her scent was strong, but she was nowhere to be seen. 

 

He walked along the shore looking for any sign of her when he caught sight of something on the ground a few yards ahead of him. He ran to it only to find Ginny’s dress and robes, crumpled into a ball and thrown atop some wet sand and rocks. He picked her dress up and brought it to his nose. The aroma of her perfume and her fear covered the material and seemed to fill the very air around him. He clutched the dress to his chest, to where his heart was pounding hard against his ribcage, and looked around frantically for its owner.

 

Remus looked out over the water, scanning the smooth, glass-like top of the lake. She suddenly emerged, her head popping out of the water, coughing loudly and gasping for air. 

 

He wanted to run toward her, to help her out of the water, but instead he stood motionless as she made her way toward him. She reached the shore, shivering, in nothing but her underthings. Her hair was matted tight around her face and neck, the normal ginger replaced by seared crimson. Rivulets of water streamed from the sodden tips down her torso. Her face was pale and blank.

 

“Hand me my robes,” she rasped. 

 

“Here, take mine,” he said softly as he removed his own robes and handed them to her. She didn’t reply as she took them from his hands and wrapped them around her body. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

 

“Not yet,” she replied plainly. 

 

They stood watching each other for a few moments. Remus was taken aback at how weary she seemed, how frail. Ginny Weasley was not a withering flower. He had seen her jump on her broomstick and race across a battlefield to ram it mercilessly into the gut of a Death Eater, knocking him several yards away from the Auror he was about to hex. Whatever was weighing so heavily on her shoulders was killing her. 

 

“Can I take you home?” he asked.

 

She blinked several times before a puzzled “Home?” escaped her lips. “No,” she continued. “No.”

 

“How about some tea, then?”

 

When she nodded slowly in response, Remus began walking, knowing she would follow. A few minutes later they sat at the small table in his quarters. A steaming cup of tea remained untouched in front of him as he watched her; her small hands were wrapped around the cup as she brought it to her lips, taking slow sips. With a flick of his wand he lit a fire in the fireplace nearby. She closed her eyes as the warmth spread throughout the room.

 

“Better?” he asked.

 

“Yes,” she whispered. “Thank you.”

 

“I suppose you’re not going to tell me why you were trying to drown yourself.”

 

“I wasn’t,” she said before taking another sip of her tea. “I wasn’t trying to drown myself. I just wanted to go numb for a while.”

 

“Numb?” he said thoughtfully. “Well I suppose if one wanted to go numb, submerging oneself in freezing water would do the trick. Did it help?”

 

“Temporary solutions yield temporary results,” she said through a half smile.

 

His eyes narrowed slightly. “Are you looking for a more permanent solution?”

 

She didn’t answer; she merely continued to drink her tea. “How much longer are you going to stay here, at Hogwarts?” she asked instead.

 

“Ah,” he said with a small smile. “Speaking of temporary solutions…”

 

A set of rooms in the castle were used as makeshift housing for members of the Order during the last four years. With the war over Remus Lupin found himself wondering, not for the first time in his life, where he was going to end up. “Minerva has asked me to stay on. She’s looking for some teachers to fill in the posts of those who hadn’t been as lucky as most.”

 

“But you won’t,” she stated with nothing of a question in her words.

 

“No, I won’t.”

 

“Why? Isn’t it what you’ve always wanted? A job. A home. Security.”

 

“My place isn’t here anymore,” he said.

 

“And where is your place?”

 

She seemed genuine in her question, as if the answer was a very important one. “I’m not sure,” he replied honestly. “I used to think it was here at Hogwarts. I used to think it was with Sirius. I used to think it was with Nymphadora. It never seemed right. My instincts are telling me that I have to be somewhere else. All a werewolf has are his instincts, so if mine tell me I have something else that I need to do then I have to follow them.”

 

“Even if you don’t know where it will lead?” Her eyes remained honed to the cup she held tightly in her hand.

 

Remus leaned forward. “Who are we talking about here, Ginny?” 

 

“Does it matter?” She let out a small laugh as she looked up.

 

They watched each other in silence. Neither speaking. Neither turning away.

 

“It’s time,” she said, suddenly getting up and removing Remus’s robes. She reached for her own clothes and dressed quickly. Before he could say anything further she was at his door.

 

Remus called out, “Where are you going?”

 

She paused and turned to him. “I’m following my instincts.”

 

“Why are you afraid?” he asked, suddenly knowing, somehow, that this would be his only chance to do so.

 

She gave him a sad smile. “Because no one else is.” With that she turned and left his chambers.

 

The next day Ginny Weasley disappeared.

 

~*~*~

 

He had answered their questions as best he could but in the end it only led to more questions.

 

Ginny left the party early and he followed her, concerned by the look on her face. He found her at the lake, swimming. She was calm, but preoccupied, and refused his offer to take her home. He brought her to his quarters to dry off and have some tea. They spoke for a bit; Ginny said very little of consequence and she left around midnight. 

 

He didn’t mention that he smelled an almost paralyzing fear permeating from her body. It was difficult enough being a werewolf without reminding people of the affliction. Especially in a situation like this, where he was the last person to see Ginny alive. No one would say it aloud, because they considered him a friend, but there would always be this barrier between them, this layer of mistrust that said: _We believe you but it doesn’t mean we won’t be watching you._ That was something every werewolf learned right away: no one wanted to be near you, but they would always watch you. You had isolation, but never privacy.

 

The Burrow was no stranger to overcrowded rooms and frantic paces, but it felt unnatural nonetheless. Most expected this morning to consist of hangover draughts and anti-nausea potions. No one expected to wake up to find the youngest Weasley to be missing.

 

“I’m sorry,” was all he could offer to Molly, whose red-lined eyes and quivering lips did little to soften the anger that poured from her shaking body. Her sons tried to console her, but Remus knew better than to provoke a mother concerned for the safety of her young and he merely sat back and listened to their words.

 

“Ginny will be fine, you know she always was a bit different…”

 

“She’s been quiet lately, she probably just needs some time away…”

 

“The war really got to her, so young and she fought so hard…”

 

Everyone, it seemed, knew something was wrong with Ginny, but it was easier to blame the effects of war on a young girl than to admit something else was going on. In the sobering light of morning, they were forced to acknowledge there was more troubling Ginny than she ever let on. And only now, that she’d vanished without a trace, was anyone willing to concede that they let it go unnoticed or, perhaps, ignored. 

 

“She came back last night,” Bill offered. “There’s a bunch of stuff missing from her room and it looked like she took some food as well.”

 

“Is there a note?” Hermione asked.

 

“Nothing,” replied Arthur softly, the lines around his eyes deeper than they had ever been.

 

“Why are we just standing around here?” Ron demanded. His hands were clenched into tight fists that were digging into the hard wood of the table before him.

 

Bill shook his head. “What would you have us do, wander the countryside? It’s been hours, she could be anywhere.”

 

“Can’t we trace her through her wand?” Hermione offered.

 

“She didn’t take it.” Several gasps were heard as everyone turned to face Arthur.

 

“What do you mean?” Ron said in alarm.

 

“It’s still here,” he said slowly. “She left it on her bed.”

 

Molly began to cry harder at his words, as though it ensured a death sentence for her only daughter. “My baby,” she wailed, “out there alone, and without her magic. We’ve got to find her before something happens.” The room murmured in agreement.

 

Remus wondered when everyone started to think of Ginny as frail, powerless. She was young, he admitted, but she was a resilient witch. Headstrong and formidable. It confused him when he sensed her fear because it seemed to go against everything he had come to expect from her. Why was it then that her family, who was supposed to know her better than anyone else, was suddenly speaking of her as if she was in mortal peril? 

 

“Don’t blame them. They don’t understand.”

 

Remus turned toward the soft, willowy voice behind him. Luna Lovegood stood in the shadows of the staircase, a finger twirling a cluster of her long blond hair, her bugged eyes staring at the chaos of the room.

 

“Who doesn’t understand?”

 

“No one. Look,” she said pointing. “Harry and Neville are in the corner. Harry feels responsible because he never got as close to Ginny as either wanted. He thinks that if they were still together things would have turned out differently for both of them. Neville is comforting him, telling him he iss being silly, but secretly Neville blames him too. He’s not angry at Harry, but Neville’s always had a crush on Ginny and he needs someone to blame and it’s easy to blame Harry for things because trouble always seems to follow him. 

 

“Ron is angry because he feels responsible for Ginny. He thinks he was spending too much time with Hermione and he neglected his duties as a big brother. Hermione thinks she understands what happened, she knows it has nothing to do with Harry, or Neville, or Ron, or anyone other than Ginny, but she isn’t smart enough about some things.”

 

“And you are?” Remus asked with a small smile.

 

Luna turned to him. “I’m smart enough to know that no one here is to blame. Not Mrs. Weasley who feels she was too strict, or Mr. Weasley who feels he wasn’t strict enough, or Bill or Charlie who felt they didn’t spend enough time with her, or Fred or George who didn’t think they took things seriously enough. Everyone is too busy thinking about themselves to understand why Ginny left.”

 

“So tell me, who is she running from?”

 

She blinked. “She’s not running from something. She’s running to something.”

 

There was always something about Luna that he found unnerving. She dwelt in a place few ever visited-- the place where imagination ended and reality began. As a child, he pictured her talking to friends made of air and dreams, traveling down rivers of thought and fantasy. But unlike other children who left that behind as they entered adolescence, Luna remained, tethered to a world that made sense only to her. 

 

There are few people who know that appearance can be deceiving more than Remus, who spent a lifetime battling pre-conceived notions about himself. Luna might not live in this world, but she understood it better than most. She saw things others didn’t see and just because she wasn’t making the most sense at the moment, it would be foolish to ignore her words. “What’s she running to?” he asked.

 

“Her destiny,” she said simply.

 

Remus narrowed his eyed as he stared at this strange girl. “Can you be a bit more specific?”

 

She shook her head. “Only Ginny knows the whole story. She’ll tell you when you find her.”

 

His eyebrows shot straight up. “When _I_ find her?” 

 

“Yes. It’s up to you. No one else here will be able to.”

 

“And why will I be able to?”

 

“Because you’re a werewolf.”

 

“I still don’t understand.”

 

“You can sense things about people, things that they don’t even realize about themselves. Everyone here will be looking for the Ginny they think they know, but you know that that Ginny doesn’t exist. No one here really knows her at all, so they don’t know what to look for.”

 

“I don’t understand.”

 

“You will, when you find her.”

 

“What makes you so certain that I will go looking for her?”

 

“Because that’s your destiny.”

 

Remus never believed in destiny; it seemed to him an overused word to clear consciences of the burden of free will. But as the words left Luna’s lips, something clicked in his head. She was right. He was supposed to find Ginny. It was why her scent was so strong to him. It’s what told him to follow her when she left the crowded hall. It’s why he turned down the job at Hogwarts. He had some place else to be. “Where do I start?”

 

“I find the best place to start is always the beginning.”

 

“Why am I not surprised by that answer?” he asked, a crooked grin playing on his lips. “I should get to work then. I don’t like the idea of her being out there alone any more than Molly does.”

 

Luna looked at him and, for the first time in his recollection, she looked thoroughly confused. “Oh, she’s not alone. She’s never alone.” With a small shake of her head she walked away. 

 

Remus watched her leave, watched her long hair sway as she walked to where Hermione sat trying to console Mrs. Weasley. He was full of questions, but Luna wasn’t going to give him any more answers. And neither, it seemed, would anyone else in the room.

 

He didn’t know what his next step was, so he followed her advice; he started from the beginning.

 

~*~*~

 

There were people who were officially in charge of finding Ginny Weasley. Three or four different agencies in the Ministry of Magic had people working on the case, as well as her friends who had set up an investigation of their own. With her picture sprawled across the front page of _The Daily Prophet,_ half the country seemed to be searching for her. Why he felt compelled to go looking for her himself was something he really couldn’t fathom. He had neither the resources nor the skills to do so. All he had was the lingering scent of her perfume and fear which would not leave him, and the unshakable feeling that he was supposed to find her-- that he was destined to.

 

It was easy enough to find excuses to loiter at the Burrow for a few days. He made himself useful by comforting Molly and helping with some household duties while she and Arthur waited for news.

 

“Can I get you some tea?” he offered. “How about something to eat?”

 

“No, thank you Remus,” Molly said softly.

 

“You haven’t eaten in days.”

 

“I doubt I could hold anything down.”

 

“It wouldn’t do to have you faint, now would it?” he said soothingly. “Come with me. We’ll sit in the kitchen. I’ll make us some sandwiches.”

 

She reluctantly followed and sat across from him as he began to make lunch. “This isn’t supposed to be happening,” she said, hoarsely. “The war is over. My children have survived. We are supposed to be celebrating. Planning weddings. Waiting for grandchildren.”

 

“Weddings? Grandchildren? Do you have news you’re not sharing?”

 

“No,” she said with a trace of a smile. “Not yet. But I was free to hope. Bill and Fleur are finally married a family isn’t that far off. Ron and Hermione are nearly married. I had always hoped Ginny and Harry might get together again or, perhaps, that she and Neville would hit it off. But Ginny never seemed interested in anyone special. Not in a long while.”

 

Remus was gathering supplies on the counter trying to make the conversation as normal as possible. “She dated at Hogwarts, didn’t she?”

 

“Yes, but she was never really excited about any of them. I’d ask her about a current boyfriend and she just shrugged. ‘He’s nice,’ she’d say. Or ‘We’re really just good friends,’ or some other nonsense. It was like she didn’t really care.”

 

“Do you think something was bothering her?”

 

Molly frowned. “I do now.”

 

“But you didn’t before?”

 

She shook her head. “Ginny was always different. I know that sounds foolish considering she was the only girl of seven children, but she was truly very different for the rest of us. On one hand she was just like her brothers. She had Bill’s independence, Charlie’s sense of adventure, Percy’s intelligence, the twins’ mischievousness, and Ron’s temper. A little bit of all of them rolled up into one person. On the other hand she wasn’t like any of them. She kept so much to herself. It was almost like she was a stranger.”

 

Remus carefully stacked cheese atop a few slices of ham as she spoke. His mind whirred with questions he didn’t know how to bring up without upsetting Molly. He was slicing a tomato when he finally asked, “Did she have many friends?”

 

“Other than Ron, Harry, and Hermione? She did seem to have a fondness for Luna. But now that I think about it she never brought home any of her own friends. She seemed to have attached herself to Ron’s.”

 

This revelation seemed to mean something to Molly and soon her face began to redden and her eyes to tear up. Remus stopped his questions. He didn’t want to make things worse for anyone, especially Molly.

 

People came and went as the afternoon waned; no one had any news. Half the wizarding world was looking for her and not a single clue as to her whereabouts turned up. It seemed that if Ginny Weasley didn’t want to be found she wouldn’t be. 

 

Remus thought of Luna’s words, and her affirmation that the best place to start was the beginning. Rather than trying to figure out where she went, perhaps they might be better served trying to find out why she left. Later that night, when exhaustion and distress lulled the rest of the house to an uneasy sleep, Remus quietly entered Ginny’s room.

 

His first impression was that it wasn’t what he expected. How old was Ginny? Nearly twenty now. Nevertheless, he was surprised to find that there was nothing about the room to indicate that it belonged to a young woman. No pictures on the walls or on the desk. Dull green paint peeling around the window frame, a plain blue bedspread neatly covering her bed. There were no remnants of a childhood; no old toys gathering dust, or a stuffed bear with the stuffing falling out. Instead it was cold and impersonal.

 

He cataloged the things that were discovered missing: clothes, her broom, food stuff. Nothing of any personal value. At first he thought it odd, but looking at her room it made sense; she took no personal items because there were no personal items to take. There was nothing of a young girl about Ginny. Thinking back he doubted if there ever was. But why?

 

Remus turned his attention to her desk. A small pile of books sat neatly stacked on the upper right corner, and even though there were several feet of unused parchment and about half a dozen new quills sitting in plain view, there was not a note to be found. Even though it would have been easy just to say she would be all right and not to worry, she didn’t. She didn’t take the few minutes necessary to assuage her mother’s concerns or her father’s dread. Did she not have the time, or did she not truly believe that she would be all right, that perhaps there was something to worry about?

_“Why are you afraid?”_

_“Because no one else is.”_

 

The rest of the world was celebrating the death of the Dark Lord and Ginny Weasley wanted to go numb. The rest of the world was blissful and Ginny Weasley was terrified. But unlike the rest of the world, Ginny Weasley had first-hand knowledge of the Dark Lord. A connection to him that no one else, save Harry Potter himself, had. Perhaps Ginny Weasley knew something the rest of the world didn’t.

 

Ginny wanted to disappear and Remus knew of only one other person who had managed it successfully and also managed to make a business of it. It was time to visit an old friend and receive payment on an old debt.

 

~*~*~

 

It was a nondescript cottage in a nondescript village, abandoned and forgotten like so much after the war. It was small with broken window panes and a cracked chimney. Just the sort of place one would never find because one would never look for it.

 

Remus knocked on the doorframe: six quick raps, four spaced four seconds apart, and another three quick ones. He waited thirty seconds and repeated the pattern. He waited fifteen more and did it again. The lock clicked and the door creaked open into a dark room. Remus entered just enough for the door to close behind him, and waited. A soft voice spoke, “The woods are no place for a weary traveler.”

 

Remus responded, “I seek one night’s shelter.”

 

“Many stay for more than one night.”

 

“I would never overstay my welcome.” The code served several purposes: firstly, it told the house’s owners that the visitor was seeking safe harbor, secondly, it bought time for a body scan to check for weapons and anything that might be concealed beneath robes, and finally, it allowed the house’s owners to assess all risks. There would normally be another step, one which would entail a member of the household to vouch for the visitor, but there was no need in this case. This visitor had not an unfamiliar face, nor an unwelcome one.

 

“Remus,” drawled a familiar voice. “It’s been a while.” Out of the shadows came the unforgettably pointed face and stone grey eyes of Draco Malfoy. Remus had seen Draco a half dozen times in the last few years but he still had to get used to the hair, now close cropped and black. It was almost as disconcerting as the scar that ran across his sternum, just above the serial number tattooed on the prisoners sent to Azkaban when the Death Eaters took it over at the start of the war.

 

“I need to see him, Draco,” Remus said bluntly.

 

Draco gave him a small, pitying smile. “Now Remus, you know how he feels about that. Perhaps I could help--”

 

“It’s personal. I’ve come to collect.”

 

The smile slipped as Draco narrowed his eyes. He surveyed Remus and gave a quick nod. “Wait here.”

 

It began as a way to get Slytherin children out of Voldemort’s grasp, a way to keep them from having to yield to the mark. It soon became a way to give them refuge from all of the wizarding world, which was quick to condemn them without bothering to wait for them to commit a crime, quick to convict and pronounce sentence. Without motive, or evidence. Without trial. This network gave them new names, new papers, new lives. Memories were altered so that even they had no recollection of who they once were. It changed appearances, and even the very imprint of their magic; wizards who entered this nondescript cabin were reborn, and left with a fighting chance. 

 

Even a place as well hidden and self-contained as this needed an outside source not tied to the house it was trying to save. Remus was the only one of three non-Slytherins who knew of the place, one of the few trusted with the information and one of the few willing to die to keep it hidden. He had always done so because it was right and just and never for a personal reason before. This time was different. He knew the only way to get the information he sought would be as payment to a life debt he earned during the war. 

 

“He’ll see you.” Draco’s voice sang through the darkness and at his feet a door opened revealing a staircase. Remus said nothing as he walked down, down, down into blackness. When he reached the bottom a torch lit on the wall beside him. He picked it up and walked the length of a corridor to the only open door at the other end. When he crossed the threshold, the door slammed shut behind him and the room lit up, illuminating its only occupant.

 

“Hello, Lupin.”

 

“Hello, Severus.”

 

Severus Snape was permanently injured during the war, during a session with a dozen vengeful Death Eaters who were too stupid to kill him outright. Forty-eight hours after he was discovered a double spy, seven Death Eaters lay dead, four critically wounded, and one driven insane by a spell that no one could name. Severus Snape walked out of the torture chamber on his own, barely a scratch on him. His only souvenir would be the loss of his left eye, which was currently concealed beneath a black patch.

 

“Come to collect on the life debt. The very one you swore you never would.” He sounded vindicated and it left Remus feeling hollow.

 

“I never wanted to, Severus, but I need information and I know it’s the only way you’ll give it to me.”

 

His exposed eye glittered. “You’re going to ask me to betray one of my expatriates.”

 

Remus knew he was on dangerous ground. Snape would rather die than reveal the location of one of his transplants. “Perhaps not,” he said carefully. “I’m looking for Ginny Weasley.”

 

“And why would I know the whereabouts of Ms. Weasley?” he said coolly.

 

“Because she disappeared without a trace.” And he added with a smile, “I know of only one person who can make that happen.”

 

Remus was one of the few people who understood Severus Snape well enough to know that there was nothing Severus hated more than being indebted to someone. Wanting to be free of the life debt he owed Remus was Remus’s only chance at getting the information. Both he and Severus knew that. “I might have some information,” Severus began, “but I need to know why you seek her.”

 

“I don’t know,” he answered truthfully. “She’s gone and she’s in danger. No, I don’t know why I think that, why I k _n_ ow that, but I do. I also know I’m the only one who can help her.”

 

Severus’s smile twisted. “That’s rather maudlin, even coming from you.”

 

“It is I suppose, but it’s the truth.” He paused to gather his thoughts. He remembered the scent of her fear, the emptiness in her eyes, and her parting words. “Do you believe in destiny?” he asked.

 

“No.”

 

Remus laughed and shook his head. “Not even a little?”

 

“Your point?”

 

His point, indeed. “I’m supposed to be there with her. Wherever she is, I’m supposed to follow. She needs me and I can’t fail her. I can’t. She’s out there, alone, without a wand--“

 

“Ms. Weasley hasn’t needed a wand since her second year.”

 

Remus froze. “What did you say?”

 

“I know you have impeccable hearing, Lupin, so I refuse to repeat myself. Don’t ever forget that she shared a body with the Dark Lord and no one can come away from that untouched. Ms. Weasley’s need for a wand disappeared long ago. But wand or not, she may be in danger.”

 

“She was here.” Remus took a step closer to Severus.

 

“Yes,” he replied, not moving.

 

“For a new identity?”

 

“For information.”

 

Remus was beginning to understand. “She was looking for a…an expatriate, wasn’t she?”

 

Severus sat back in his chair and folded his hands on his lap. “She had concerns.”

 

“And these concerns convinced you to--“

 

“They did.”

 

“And you let her go alone.” Remus could feel the anger build under his skin. Severus knew she was in danger. _He knew._ And he let her go.

 

“Ms. Weasley is quite capable of many things. Far more than she is given credit for.“

 

“And you know this because…?”

 

“Because she told me you’d be here.”

 

Remus startled. “She what?”

 

“Apparently, she too believes in destiny. She told me you’d come and asked me to give you this.” Severus pulled out a small book; the black cover was nearly singed off and the pages were yellow and brittle. Remus recognized it at once. Though he’d never seen it before, it was the stuff of legends.

 

“Tom Riddle’s diary.”

 

“What’s left of it. Ms. Weasley got a hold of it and, for whatever reason, kept writing in it. She told me to give it to you.” He handed it over. Remus leafed through it to find it full of writing. 

 

Severus waited for him to close the book before speaking. “Life debt or not, Lupin, I’m giving you this information with the trust that you will do what is right and not just by Ms. Weasley. Am I clear?”

 

“As crystal,” he said distractedly.

 

“I will give you the same coordinates I gave Ms. Weasley, finding her is your task. I believe this meets your requirements for information.”

 

“It does.”

 

“And the life debt...”

 

“Is paid in full.”

 

Remus watched as Severus sat up straighter, as if a burdensome weight was lifted from his shoulders. “Then I suggest you leave. Now. You’ve already lost too much time.”

 

“Yes. Thank…thank you, Severus.”

 

“Lupin…Remus. I trust you to do what is right. I also trust you to do what is necessary.” He was solemn, more earnest than Remus ever remembered seeing him.

 

“I know you do,” he said sincerely. “And despite what you think of me and our…friendship, I really appreciate that trust. I know your trust isn’t given lightly.” As the door clicked shut behind him, Remus thought he heard a very faint, “Godspeed.”

 

He wasted no time racing back down the corridor and up the staircase only to find Draco leaning against the far wall, waiting for him.

 

“Is it done?” he asked, his arms folded over his chest.

 

“It is.”

 

Draco only nodded. 

 

As Remus walked past, he was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. “It wasn’t his debt to pay, you know,” Draco said coldly. “It was mine.”

 

Remus turned to face him. “I didn’t save you for your sake, Draco. I did it for his.”

 

Draco looked up and into Remus’s eyes.

 

“You’re like a son to him. You are also the only thing that keeps him going, that keeps this place running. It was his debt, and his alone… and it’s been paid. Neither of you owe me anything. I think, that you owe each other much more.” Remus walked out the door and Apparated away.

 

 

~*~*~

 

 

Three days later Remus found himself holed up in a boarding house in Athlone, eating leftover lamb stew, and reading about the life of Ginny Weasley. 

 

He read of her loneliness after the news of her connection to Voldemort became public. How her classmates avoided her, how no one spoke to her, how she lost her closest friends. 

 

He read about the discovery that she no longer needed a wand and how it both frightened and excited her. How she kept it a secret because she was just beginning to make friends again and she didn’t want to jeopardize that by showing she was different from them in any way. 

 

He never realized how much they had in common before.

 

Ginny chronicled the war, detailing every battle, listing all the dead. Remus ran his fingers over the spots where her tears stained the pages, or along the jagged edges of pages she tore out, leaving him to wonder what was so horrible that she couldn’t bear to leave it in the book.

 

There were brief references to love affairs and Remus realized how insignificant they were to her. How little she thought of the things most young women think of as the most important part of their lives. He remembered her room and wondered how different she would be if she had had a normal life, if she remained untouched by the specter of a madman. Would this diary be full of the particulars of a first kiss, rather than the first time she saw someone die? Instead of a record of dead friends, would it be full of parties and secrets and crushes?

 

Remus found himself introduced to a woman whose melancholy was palpable, who was old well before her time, whose words spoke to a part of him that, until that very moment, had remained untouched by another human being. His arms longed to hold her and comfort her and shield her from those who would harm her. His fingers longed to wipe the tears from her face. Remus held the battered remains of a book that housed her thoughts and her pain, held it in his weathered hands. Each page smelled of her: of honeysuckle and dawn and fear, and he found himself inhaling deeply just to keep her fresh in his memory.

 

By day he searched the streets, looking for ginger hair, fine and long, swaying like a ripple in the ocean. He looked for warm brown eyes and long slender limbs covered with a smattering of freckles. He looked for a woman who seemed to have imbedded herself within every cell of his body and refused to leave him in peace. 

 

By night he read and reread of her life. Of her sorrow and her dread, of her nightmares. But it wasn’t until the end, until the very last page, that he realized why she left, where she was going, and what she was looking for. All the answers he sought were held in three little words scribbled at the bottom of a page at the end of the book: _He’s not dead._

 

Ginny Weasley did know something that no one else did. She knew it because she felt it in her bones. Felt it in the marrow that remembered the moment another occupied her body. Ginny Weasley didn’t celebrate the demise of the greatest Dark Lord the world would ever know because -- _He’s not dead._

 

Another day passed. A week. Then another. And he could find no trace of Ginny. She was still missing, dissipated into the ether and gone from the world. He had all but given up….

 

…until he smelled the fear.

 

 

~*~*~

 

Duncan Brannigan left his office at 6:15 PM just as he did every night. The lights from the stores he passed seemed to be bothering him more and more lately. His head pounded and ached; the soft florescent lighting from the shop signs was making it even worse.

 

He walked down the street to his favorite pub, The Jarvey’s Den, sat at the bar and ordered a glass of his favorite lager. Duncan was a simple creature; he was preparing to finish his drink quickly, go home and have some dinner, and catch the Quidditch quarter finals on the wireless. He was a slave to routine. He wasn’t, however, inflexible. Especially when a gorgeous blonde just flashed a heavenly smile in his direction.

 

“May I join you?” she asked.

 

Duncan licked his dry lips. “Please.” He gave an appreciative glance at the long legs that extended from beneath a very short skirt. His eyes rose and followed the curve of her hip to where it dipped into her waist, and landed on the plunging neckline that framed her breasts. “Can I buy you a drink?”

 

She gave a low, throaty laugh. “I’ll have whatever you’re having.” Her voice was low and inviting.

 

Duncan ordered another lager. “You must be new to the area. I’d never forget a smile like that.”

 

Her grin widened. “Oh, I’ve only been in town a couple of months. I keep hoping someone will volunteer to show me around.” Their drinks came. She dipped her finger into the thick foam at the top of the glass and brought it to her lips where she sucked it clean.

 

“I have some free time,” he said with a swallow.

 

“Are you volunteering to show me around?” she asked.

 

“I’ll show you anything you want to see.”

 

An hour and a half later Duncan still didn’t know so much as her name, but he was so hard he thought he might faint from the lack of blood to his brain. Every time her legs brushed his, every time her hand fell casually on his arm, every time she looked up at him through her long eyelashes, he felt a surge rocket through his groin and his mouth go dry.

 

She noted his obvious discomfort. “You seem very tense.”

 

He gave a nervous laugh. “You have a … a strong effect on me.”

 

She leaned forward so that their shoulders touched and slowly slid her hand between their bodies, wrapping her fingers around the erection straining against his pants. “That’s a rather good effect, I’d say. Why don’t we go around back and maybe I could help you with it.”

 

Duncan didn’t need to be asked twice. She’d been flirting with him all night and he was sure he’d come in his pants if she continued to stroke him.

 

He followed her to the back alley where he quickly pushed her up against the wall and latched his lips and teeth to her neck. One hand was firmly digging into her waist while his other roughly cupped her breast. He expected some kind of resistance, maybe even a request that they find a place that offered more privacy, but all she did was rub up and down the thigh that he had buried between her legs. When he heard her low moan he reached down and pulled up her skirt, exposing her pale thighs to the sultry night air. He began to fumble with the button on his trousers and pulled out his weeping cock. Just as he began to push against her she raised her hand and clamped it on his shoulder, leaned into his ears and whispered, “ _Somniculosus_.”

 

There was a flash of blue light. And then nothing.

 

~*~*~

 

Remus sat at the back of the bar and watched them: the tall thin man with mousy brown hair and stooped shoulders and the blonde bombshell. Remus had never been overly fond of blondes but he couldn’t take his eyes off this one. There might have been yellow hair where there should have been red, tan skin where there should have been freckles, blue eyes where there should have been brown but -- he inhaled deeply again – it was her.

 

The scent that haunted him for months was back and as strong as ever. He caught a whiff of it in the air a few nights prior and had been lingering around the pub ever since, sure that the owner of the aroma was nearby. Tonight he found her. Despite her altered appearance he knew.

 

Something twisted inside him as he watched them flirt. Each laugh, each lazy touch sparked his temper. More than once he wanted to pry them apart, but he waited. Ginny was looking for something, and there was a good chance she found it.

 

Then suddenly they huddled together. He saw her arm move between them and he knew Ginny was making her move. Minutes later they were out the door. He rushed to follow but the bartender stopped him, demanding he pay for his drinks. Remus hastily threw a handful of galleons at him and ran outside. By the time he found them the young man was slumped on the floor at her feet and Ginny stood, her back to the wall, her clothes rumpled, and tears streaming down her face.

 

“Ginny,” he called.

 

She looked up. “Remus,” she said through sobs.

 

He ran over and slid his arms around her small frame. “We need to get out of here. Can you Apparate?”

 

She nodded silently. 

 

“Good. I’ve got him. You need to get to--“

 

She stopped him before he finished. “Don’t worry, just go. I can follow.”

 

It should have startled him more that she could just follow him without knowing where they were going, but he didn’t have time to think. Seconds later they all stood in his room at the boarding house.

 

“He’s not dead,” Remus confirmed as he laid the limp body on his small bed.

 

“I couldn’t…” Ginny began before her voice trailed off. “I was…”

 

“Wait.” Remus ran his sweaty hands through his hair. “Tell me everything.”

 

Ginny took a deep breath and closed her eyes as she gathered her thoughts. “Where should I start?” she asked, looking at Remus through heavy lids.

 

Remus only smiled. “I find the best place to start is always the beginning.”

 

Ginny laughed mirthlessly. “Then I have to take you back to my first year at Hogwarts.”

 

“Not that far. I did have this.” He held up Riddle’s diary. 

 

Ginny took it from him and slowly shook her head as she thumbed through the pages. “I figured you would go to Snape. I wasn’t sure he’d talk to you.”

 

“Severus is no fool. He knew something was happening and that somehow you …and I are in the middle of it.”

 

She continued to shake her head. “Do you remember when Harry was having those dreams about the Department of Mysteries and the door? When we found out that Voldemort and Harry were connected somehow?” Remus nodded. “I realized something then…I realized he wasn’t the only one.”

 

Remus sank down at the edge of the bed that Duncan currently occupied. He never took his eyes off Ginny.

 

“For years I’d been feeling something…odd. This sense of another place and another life. I thought I was going insane; considering what I’d been through it wasn’t so impossible. I tried to ignore it, to forget it. I wouldn’t even write about in my own journal. I thought I could will it to go away. I had almost convinced myself it had, until Harry killed Voldemort. Then I knew. I knew for sure that there was some sort of connection between us. I knew he wasn’t dead.”

 

“Ginny…” Remus began helplessly, not really knowing what else to say.

 

“He’s been in my skin, Remus. He’s felt my blood course through my veins, he’s felt my heart beating. We shared the same air. I know he’s not gone. Not completely. Harry knows it, too, but he doesn’t understand what he’s feeling. That’s why he’s been drinking himself numb. But he can’t…can’t just will it away.”

 

She turned to the prone figure still unconscious on the bed. “That is Theodore Nott. When Voldemort realized he was going to lose the war he enlisted young Nott’s help in ensuring his return. He locked away a memory of himself in Nott’s body much in the same way he preserved his memory in the diary. He created one last Horcrux, one that would remain dormant, and well hidden, until triggered. Should Voldemort truly lose the war it was up to Nott to make sure he returned. What Voldemort didn’t count on was that Nott was a coward and when his Dark Lord was defeated he went to Snape to go into hiding.

 

“But there was a problem -- a complication which even Nott didn’t think of: part of the process of going into hiding is a very complex _Obliviate_. Nott lost all memory of his former life. This man knows nothing of Theodore Nott or his affiliations. He knows nothing of Voldemort other than what he’s read in the Daily Prophet. He has no idea that the essence of a mad man is embedded in his very body.”

 

“Then it’s all right, isn’t it?” Remus interjected hopefully. “Voldemort is trapped in his body and no one knows about it.”

 

“For how long, Remus?” she replied sadly. “He’s been getting these intense headaches lately. They get worse every day. I think Voldemort is trying to break through the _Obliviate_ from the inside. It’s only a matter of time before he succeeds.”

 

“I wasn’t wrong. You were trying to kill him tonight.”

 

“I couldn’t do it,” she whispered hoarsely. “I can’t… It was different if this really was Theodore Nott, but it isn’t. This is Duncan Brannigan. He has a small apartment he shares with a cat. He works in an office that sells advertising at Quidditch matches. He likes to read Auror novels and he’s trying to learn cooking spells. I can’t kill him. I just can’t.”

 

Watching her there, distraught and afraid, struck Remus. It suddenly became clear to him why he was there. Why he felt compelled to find her. Fate and destiny were no longer words thrown around by deceitful seers and false prophets. He was there because she needed him to be, because he could do what she could not.

 

To do what was right. To do what was necessary.

 

Remus has in his own body the essence of a killer, one he spent a lifetime trying to suppress. During the war Remus went to extreme measures to take prisoners, but not kill them. He never killed as a wolf and he refused to kill as a man. But Remus found himself at a crossroads. The Ministry would not believe the word of a werewolf and a young woman who was once possessed by Voldemort. Exposing Nott meant exposing Severus and putting in danger all the innocent people Severus tried to protect. Ginny knew what had to happen, Severus knew what had to happen and they were both depending on Remus to do what was necessary. To meet his destiny.

 

Remus said nothing else as he lifted his wand and uttered a prayer before the room filled with green light.

 

~*~*~

 

Mrs. Tamra O’Dell filed a police report later that week. Her tenant, a quiet but polite young man named Duncan, had disappeared without notice. She told the papers he was a nice boy, always paid his rent on time, and she was worried about him. There were crazy people out there, after all, and a nice gentleman like Duncan could easily be taken advantage of. Until he returned she promised to take care of his cat, Mortimer, and to water his plants.

 

Three months after she disappeared, Ginny Weasley returned to the Burrow. There was crying, shouting, and rejoicing as half of Ottery St. Catchpole converged on the house. No one was satisfied with her answers, but no one was going to push. Ginny was such a frail thing and she probably just needed some space. She spoke to Harry only once. “It’s over,” she said solemnly as she took the whiskey from his hand. “It’s really over.” Harry didn’t say a word as he watched her walk away. He simply went into Ron’s room where he slept for the better part of a week.

 

Remus Lupin went to a nondescript cottage in a nondescript village to find it truly deserted. 

 

~*~*~

 

It had been a month since Ginny was safely at home and Remus Lupin had accepted Minerva McGonagall’s generous offer to teach Defense once again, as well as become the new Head of Gryffindor. This should have brought him peace, but it didn’t. 

 

It was a cool, crisp night when he found himself taking a moonlight swim in the frigid waters of the lake. He would submerge his entire body and keep it underwater until the need for air was too great to ignore. When his teeth began to chatter he sluggishly made his way to the shore. Waiting for him was Ginny Weasley.

 

“I knew you’d be here,” she said as she handed him his robes.

 

“I just wanted to go numb for a while,” he replied as he covered his shivering body.

 

“Did it help?”

 

“Temporary solutions,” he said through a half smile.

 

Neither said a word as they walked back to his chambers. It was in silence that she led him to the bedroom. In silence, that she unbuttoned his robes to reveal his bare chest beneath. She leaned against him, burying her face in the nape of his neck and running her hands up and down his ribcage. Remus closed his eyes as her fingers grazed soft trails along his abdomen.

 

She gently pushed him onto the bed and pulled her body flush with his. His hand explored her slender frame, sliding under her blouse and along the soft curve of her breast, thumb over her nipple, nails in the small of her back. He reached behind her and cupped her backside, kneading the taut muscles as they ground into one another. 

 

Ginny sat up, straddling his pelvis. As she hovered over him she undressed, dropping her clothes to the floor with little care as to where they fell. Soon, without prelude, Remus found his impossibly hard shaft sinking into dark wetness and heat. She was rocking against him with an unrushed, languid rhythm, her lips mouthing his name with each stoke, but still not uttering a single sound.

 

Remus felt his climax building, felt that delicious tightness swirl just below his belly and soon he was coming into her, so hard that his back arched off the bed. She collapsed over him, her torso pressed to his and their bodies still attached. He inhaled deeply and the air smelled of musk and sex and Ginny. There was sorrow there, yes, but there was also hope, and it was sweet.

 

He knew, they both knew, that they might never heal. But perhaps, in the quiet times, they could forget.

 

Finis

 


End file.
